by Aidan Truhen
In the dark heart of the mountain there is a miniature sun.
That is the moment at which Rex unquestionably dies and you know he was a Demon and he dies in a literal blaze of glory so there is that.
Now I am absolutely an amateur at this explosives stuff and if I still had an explosives guy on my team, I’d have known not to do it with a hundred tons of the mixture but you know, man, that’s what happens in the world, people just aren’t there when you need them, right, I mean they just wander off or marry a stripper with neck-down volitional alopecia or they get swept away by a death trap in a bank robbery. I mean that is just how things are and when those things happen there are echoes in the world and sometimes the echoes are small and sad and sometimes they are really loud and that is just the butterfly effect is what.
Tragic onward consequences here is what I’m saying.
Motherfucking tragic.
Here is a given amount of water occupying a given amount of space and it has no easy exits. And here now in the heart of that tense yet balanced natural relationship of pressure, cold and stone is a ball of superhot exploding steam which is expanding really fast and really hard. Some of that pressure goes outward in a wave and bounces off the walls of the lake—that is to say basically off the European continental plate, which is big enough to take it—and rebounds inward to the point of origin. Above that point there is now a column of rising steam and bubbles frothing like extreme cappuccino-style up into the vertical pipe leading to the Kircheisen vaults. Up above it there is a great plug of cold water and that water falls downward through the steam, which loses heat and energy and compresses rapidly so that the whole load falls down hard in time with the compression wave. Everything arrives in the same place at the same time.
This time, pretty much all the force of the explosion goes up the pipe looking for a way out.
Which isn’t there.
Because Hans Eiger’s vault is fixed over the top.
It’s the weakest point in the mountain so—
The Kircheisen Festung explodes.
We can see what happens perfectly because of the spotlights. The mountain crinkles like cooking foil and then a piece slips and slides off to the side. The rumble in the ground becomes a howl like the biggest bottle in the world being filled from a spigot. I can see people running and being blown clear off the edge of the mountain and then—
The metal frame of the vault rips out like a spaceship launching on a pillar of steam and screaming white fire.
For a moment it just hangs there in the air at the top of a shallow arc.
Present moment perfect moment: I have made a bank fly.
Some parts of the mountain come too although not a whole lot percentage wise and I would say not very many people from the plateau but that’s kinda ballpark.
Agent Hannah will probably be fine.
The vault turns through ninety degrees in place just like a diver coming off the high board.
And then it falls.
Down.
Down.
Down the way you always imagine God will come when you’re a kid and someone’s shitty to you and he never does come.
Until now.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Onto the cable car station.
And two dozen French Nazis in a fleet of four-wheel-drive cars.
And an old Dutch lady who was very rich and smelled like cheap chocolates.
And a saluki called Marta who really did not deserve any of this.
Say one thing for German auto design say this: the vault does not actually crush them completely flat. There’s like a five-inch gap between the metal base and the soil.
I do not imagine the same thing can be said for Mrs. Van der Zee’s hat.
I look up across the valley at the man on his chair with his wine and I think I can see Ottavio Leopold Calvanese applauding in the empty night.
One less person in the world who wants to kill us, I guess that’s good.
A moment later we hear the noise of the impact and that’s all we hear for a while because it is very loud.
“I’ve done my job Doc.”
Doctor Client I guess.
Now it’s done.
Sorry Rex.
Sorry Volodya.
Sorry Evil Hansel because I put you somewhere you likely never wanted to be.
Sorry Marta I’m sure you were a good dog.
Sorry but I am not Banjo Telemark.
My name is Jack Price and I am the First of the Demons.
This is my art.
EPILOGUE
THE VAULT WAS REALLY WELL MADE I GUESS so most of the stuff in it was A-OK. We used one of the little bulldozers to load it up onto a freight container and Doc was all ready with the truck but Mozart landed her butt-ugly plane on the road right there with its vertical doohickey and we just loaded that up instead.
It’s true that the Swiss Air Force doesn’t fly at night.
The Italian one does, though, and they got the call to come fuck our shit up.
But by some chance that no one’s really got to the bottom of, they were given the wrong coordinates by the dispatching officer, who definitely does not work even occasionally for Ottavio Leopold Calvanese that is slander.
So we just flew away and we left Fred’s horrible enormous porno jet right there in the hangar and sold it later to a movie star.
I hear he was real freaked-out about the guy in the crate, we completely forgot about Sean, there was just so much going on but when you keep pets you have responsibilities, and that is my bad.
Agent Hannah got kicked out of Einsatzgruppe JONAS and she left the Swiss police.
I don’t feel like that is entirely my bad but I am reasonably sure she does, so I think it is best if I don’t call her.
We had a memorial for Rex and Volodya. We sang songs and ate ham. Doc did a genetic assay on it first and she promises there was absolutely no human content at all.
Elena Riccardi figured out what happened and she and her husband went on a cruise. She also left a very rude message on our answering service that is just uncalled for but I guess she has cause.
I asked Barton if he would like to be Banjo Telemark and he said yes. So now there really is a mega-rich insane modern artist running around the world doing fucked-up shit to people to remind them that nothing is real. I didn’t want the job but I’m glad someone has it.
We have a subscription purchase of cigars from the little guy in Bern. One a week delivered to a standing address. I don’t know why and nor does he and that is as it should be.
Life goes on.
Life does indeed go on but even so Doc was extremely pissed with me about the whole thing and she absolutely did punish me for it.
For weeks.
Which I do not remember at all.
And then when she was through with that I was not dead although now I have a tattoo of my own skeleton in black-light ink on my skin to remind me what will happen if I do it again.
But then we had a kind of a problem because now there were too many Demons.
Doc
Charlie
Saul
Lucille
Mozart
Flavia
Me
And a head on a stick.
I mean the Eight Demons that is nowhere. And Evil Hansel is kind of an intern or some shit and you cannot—Eight Demons And The Kid—I mean no.
And in fact I kind of fucked up our business model because between Sharkey and Eiger and Leclerc and blowing up a mountain, there is some doubt about whether anyone will ever hire us again. I mean it’s not like we need the money or like anyone is gonna think we’re a soft target after this. But still that is my bad.
And it is also fine because wh
en you get hired you have to do deals with guys like Leclerc and really honestly: fuck those guys.
Headline:
OUTRAGE AT KIRCHEISEN
Criminal gangs target world’s most secure bank…many casualties…Most Wanted…
“Seven Demons” believed to have been working with neo-Nazis and Italian Mob…
Respected community members flattened in explosion horror…
Dog survives owner—inherits fortune.
“Wait Charlie read that last bit again? You’re fucking kidding me GO MARTA! Well now I totally feel like less of a monster I mean that’s practically philanthropy.”
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